until we meet again
by liviafan1
Summary: She must be hallucinating because there's no way she'd see him here, at some ass-kissing function, he'd call it, after six years away from the force. EO.


A/N: Elliot and Liv were my first love before Castle and Beckett, but I haven't written anything decent for these two (because we definitely cannot count my words at 15, which have since been deleted). They're tougher to write than I thought or remember, but I know that's just 'cause I care about them too much. Writer problems, am I right?

This is finished. For now, anyway.

* * *

She's really starting to regret agreeing to come tonight.

Not that she had much of a choice — at least not these days, ever since she became a lieutenant. She'd found not only a rumpled invitation in the mail she receives at home, but also one placed carefully on her desk, not to be missed.

 _Cordially invited to a benefit for the NYPD's Widows and Orphans Fund,_ it'd said.

She's not adverse to dressing up for a night out, especially for a good cause, but she's been in a bit of a funk lately and really just wants to be at home, cuddled on the couch with her sweet little boy. Even if it means watching _Finding Dory_ for what must be the millionth time on Netflix and swapping wine for juice.

It doesn't help matters either that the only one here from her squad who heeded her weak order to come for moral support is Fin, who's been busy chatting up an attractive traffic cop he's crossed paths with a handful of times.

And then, of course, there's her date —

Tucker.

 _Ed_.

She hasn't been able to break herself of the habit of calling him both. _Before_ and _After_.

She'd asked him to come with her before they split and they've kept in touch sporadically, a text or a phone call here and there. But as much as she didn't want to come to this thing alone, she's not sure the two of them coming together as friends was the best idea, either.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks her as he joins the table again, setting down a glass of red in front of her.

He looks really good in a suit. Did she know he looked really good in a suit? She must've.

Damn.

She shoots him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, just...zoning out, I guess." She takes a long sip of her wine, relishing the crisp slide of it down her throat. "Thanks for the drink."

"You see anything worth bidding on?" he asks, gesturing to the table where the silent auction items are held.

She cocks an eyebrow. "I've got my eye on that trip to Florence."

The weather has finally started to get nice in New York, but she'd still kill for a week of pasta, wine, sunshine and a gorgeous Italian villa.

"What about you, anything catch your, uh, _selective_ eye?" she asks.

He glares at her. "Actually, yes. I was thinking about that Harley."

She splutters, wiping her mouth with her fingers. Good one, Benson. "A _Harley?_ Little late for your midlife crisis, isn't it?" she teases, her eyes glinting.

"Says the woman who owns a Mustang," he says dryly.

"Took you a little while, but you finally managed to slip my arrest into every day conversation, didn't you?"

His face turns serious again. "Olivia - "

She laughs. "I'm joking. It's fine. You're not wrong, either. I can't even remember the last time I took it out for a spin," she laments, running a hand through the silky tresses of her hair. Ugh, it really needs a trim but it's finally starting to grow out again —

When she turns her gaze back to him again, he looks away quickly — like he's been caught staring at her a little too intensely for their new status as friends.

"You look beautiful tonight, you know, " he rasps.

She swallows hard, her fist clenching against her thigh before she opens her palm to smooth her hand over the emerald silk that hugs the length of her body. "Thank you," she scrapes out.

He cocks his head, his stormy blue eyes surveying her. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Ed, really," she assures him, laying a hand on his arm.

And she is, mostly, she just didn't expect to...well, _miss him_ as much as she has. She feels like she's making the right decision to focus on Noah and her job, especially when Ed seems ready to not only retire, but settle down.

But their breakup was a painful reminder that she's almost 50 years old, yet she still finds herself keeping one foot out the door, ready for the perfect person to come along so she can finally take another step and lock herself out.

"Good enough to let me take you for a spin out on the dance floor?" He offers her his open hand in invitation.

She makes a face. "I definitely have not had enough wine for that."

"All right, now you're just making excuses, Benson."

She glares at him, thrusting her hand into his palm. "Don't make me regret this."

He rolls his eyes in typical Tucker fashion. "You already do," he points out.

The dance floor isn't packed but there are enough couples floating around that she can move relatively unnoticed. When he leads her to an empty spot that's closer to the edge, not far from the bar, she chuckles to herself.

She can't say that he doesn't know her.

He shoots her a smug look over his shoulder. _See_?

"So cocky," she says, the corners of her mouth turning up as she takes hold of one of his hands and settles it onto the curve of her hip. She wraps a hand around his shoulder as the digits of their free hands slide together, just a little clumsily.

Like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit.

Jesus, she really needs to get a grip.

"You think we can convince the band to play a little Springsteen?" he asks her.

She smirks. "You mean the _five-piece jazz band_? Hmm, I don't think so."

"Well, it would certainly liven this place up a little," he grumbles.

She looks around the hall and makes a face. It's definitely not the worst night she's ever had nor the worst event she's ever been to, but the guest list is brimming with a bunch of people she doesn't know. A room overflowing with boring, bureaucratic stiffs in the upper ranks of the NYPD.

Ahem. She is most definitely not including herself in that category.

"Can't argue you there," she admits.

He scoffs. "That's a first."

She laughs, lightly slaps his chest. "Hey! I'm not that bad."

"No," he says gruffly, his gaze piercing right through her as a knot fists in her stomach. "You're not."

Fuck, she can't do this. This was was such a stupid idea.

Her eyes slam shut, her fingers scraping against his shoulder. "Ed - "

"I know, Liv. It's okay." He squeezes her hand gently. "We're just dancing."

He might have decent handle on reading her, but she's not immune to him, either. She knows she hurt him when they split, more than she had anticipated. But instead of sitting at home, licking his wounds, he's chosen to be here with her tonight.

She expels a slow breath, forces herself to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," she says quietly.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he says firmly, squeezing her hand. "Now come on, you're really bringing the room down. Which is impressive, considering the state it was already in," he jokes.

She tries to relax after that, but the fist in her stomach doesn't relinquish its ironclad grip and now the tiny hairs on the back of her neck are prickling in awareness.

Something is wrong —

And it doesn't have anything to do with her or Tucker.

Her heart pounds a little faster, kicking her anxiety into overdrive. She can feel a pair of eyes heavy on her and it makes her dizzy, sick with it.

She tries to calm down as Tucker shifts them another couple of steps, oblivious to her distress. She opens her mouth to try to explain, excuse herself, but it's silly and she's confused. But then her eyes zero in on a pair of intense blue ones from across the room, sending ice water sprawling through her veins.

She whips back around and she can't catch her breath. Is her system shutting down now?

No, _no._ She's fine, maybe hallucinating, that's the only explanation. Her body almost collapses in relief at the welcoming thought.

Because there's no way she'd see him _here_ , at some ass-kissing function, he'd call it, after six years away from the force.

There's no way. Right?

Fuck, she's about to have a panic attack.

Tucker catches her eye, frowning. "You look like you just saw a ghost."

"Yeah, you know, I'm actually feeling a little warm. I'm just gonna go outside and grab some fresh air," she rushes out on a breath.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

She brushes a hand along his arm, forcing a small smile. "I won't be long. Just a few minutes."

She practically bolts toward an empty exit then and she swears she hears the echo of her name chasing her out the doors, in a thick Brooklyn accent. It pours like cement down her chest and into her lungs until she's suffocating with it.

Finally, she's shoving the door open and gulping down as much air as she can, her hands shaky as she tries to steady herself, fumbling for the metal railing that encloses the balcony.

The landing is small, no bigger than a parking space, and she's alone.

"Olivia."

Fuck. _Was_ alone.

She gasps, her eyes slamming shut as she nearly sinks to her knees at the deep baritone of the voice of a man she had to tell herself she'd never see again.

She's dizzy again and vaguely thinks that maybe she should sit down and shove her head between her legs, but _fuck it all_ , there are no chairs out here. Her hands twitch, yearning to shove him away, back through the doors to wherever the hell he comes from these days, but she can't even manage to lift a finger from the metal that's keeping her upright.

By now, her distress must be written in all the lines of her body. She feels the scalding heat of his hand at her back and she jerks away with a wince.

He's already branded her more times than she can count and she can't let him lay claim to her again.

"I'm going to get you a chair," he says then, doesn't bother to wait for her response before the door clicks again behind him.

She examines her surroundings for another way out, but she's a solid two stories up with no way down other than the door behind her and a fire escape off to her left that looks like it's been painted with rust.

The door creaks open just a moment later and she still can't turn her head to look at him, but he doesn't force her. The legs of the chair nudge her calves and she's falling onto it as gracefully as she can manage before she leans her head over, slowly sucking oxygen into her lungs.

His footsteps are heavy — guilty — and he's standing as close to her as he can get without touching.

"I'm sorry," his voice is low and pained. "I didn't think…"

She chokes down a mirthless laugh. Sorry for what? For leaving without so much as a _Screw you, Olivia_ after 12 years together or for electrocuting her with with his presence after six years of empty, nothing?

Maybe if she doesn't respond, he'll go away.

Her eyes close, perfectly still as she lets it all float away. She visualizes her anxiety, imagines it trailing off down the fire escape, in search of its next victim.

It works, a little bit, and she's not sure if that means she's paying her therapist too much or not enough.

After a few more moments to let the spots dissipate from her vision, she lifts her head and straightens her spine to find him perched against the railing, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His blue eyes are still the fucking bluest she's ever seen, a deep well she could tumble headfirst into.

A well she _has_ tumbled headfirst into.

The worry lines etched into his face almost make her falter. _Almost_.

"I have _nothing_ to say to you, Elliot," she says coldly, proud of how steady her voice is, considering what a nightmare the last three minutes have been.

"I know," he concedes quietly, scraping a calloused hand over his greying 5 o'clock shadow. Damn it all to hell, he still looks good. "But I have everything to say to you, Lieutenant."

Her snaps snap to his in surprise. He's been keeping tabs on her?

She blinks away the confusion. She's getting distracted. "That's rich," she scoffs.

He clears his throat. "Look, I know you're angry — "

"You're wrong. Anger implies that I feel anything toward you now. You moved on and you didn't have the decency to clue me in, so I moved on, too. I don't feel anything anymore."

He clenches his jaw. "So that near-panic attack you had just now was what, then, Olivia?"

"Fuck you, Elliot," she spits, shoving away from her chair. But he's too quick for her, a strong hand reaching for her wrist.

She turns back to him, fire in her eyes, ready to tell him where he can go — but the missing ring on his left hand runs over her tongue like a freight train.

"I'm sorry," he pleads. "This is not — _fuck_." He pinches the bridge of his nose. "This is not how I wanted to start this conversation."

"Yeah, well, we don't always get what we want, now do we?" The words scramble out of her before she can take them back, the implication heavy in the air.

"I know I hurt you. I know that I fucked up more in the last six years than I did in the twelve years you and I had together. I just need ten minutes and then you can go back to your date with Tucker," he says, his eyes flicking toward the door.

She narrows her eyes. It must be killing him to keep the bite out of his voice at the mention of Ed, but the only thing that gives him away is the slight twitch of his jaw and his fingers flexing at his thigh.

She sighs. "Ten minutes and then I never hear from you again," she concedes quietly.

His eyes look pained, but he nods. "If that's what you want," he says slowly, releasing his grip on her.

She ducks her head, turning away from him to get her bearings before settling against the brick wall next to the door, putting more space between them.

"Do you wanna sit down?"

She waves him off. "I'm fine, Elliot." She is, a little bit. Her heart has finally stopped running a marathon.

He shakes his head, lets out a hollow chuckle. "Always are."

She wants to ask him what the hell that's supposed to mean, but she bites her tongue. She hasn't seen or heard from him in a handful of years and yet she could easily fall into a screaming match with him as if no time has passed.

Zero to sixty and rarely anything in between.

"Olivia, that girl…" he trails off brokenly.

She swallows hard. She still wakes up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night sometimes, dreaming about the moment when the life he took ripped the heart from his chest.

He clears his throat, his hands bracketing his legs as he leans back against the railing. "I still have nightmares about that day. For awhile, you know, I'd wake up, think it was all a terrible dream and I'd reach for my badge there on the nightstand and it'd be gone."

The wind outside ripples through them and it flutters his suit jacket open. She half expects his badge and his gun to still sit on his hip. It looks naked without it.

"You know I haven't held a gun in my hand since that day," he says quietly. "I'd go to pick it up and my hand — " he breaks off, shaking his head. "I couldn't get my hand to stop shaking."

She bites her lip. "Have you seen anyone? Like…" she trails off. They both hated shrinks once upon a time. How long ago that seems now.

She's changed so much since then and she doesn't know how much she still recognizes in the man in front of her now.

"Like a shrink?" he suggests. "It helped for awhile. Put a few other things in perspective."

She wants to ask if one of those things was his marriage, but that's not what comes out of her mouth.

"You know, I can understand trauma, I can even understand wanting to leave the job. I've been there — we all have," she says firmly.

"But to shut me out of your life after over a decade of partnership, of, of friendship? Do you have _any idea_ what a slap in the face that was?" She lets out an incredulous breath.

"Do you think that's what I wanted, Olivia?"

"Then why the hell did you? You made a choice!" she fumes. "Jesus Christ, Elliot, you are such an incredible bastard — "

"Because I couldn't look you in the eye after that," he shouts, squeezing his fists at his legs.

She cocks her head. "We've both taken lives before — "

He shakes his head. "Not like this. This was different. She died and I had all this blood on my hands, Olivia. And I knew, no matter how many showers I took, no matter how much time had passed, it was never gonna come off," he says quietly.

"So, what, after all this time, you suddenly decide to have the balls to come look me in the eye now?" she asks in disbelief.

"It was why I stayed away, at first," he says slowly. "But then I realized I needed to figure out how I felt about you away from the job."

"Are you _honestly_ trying to tell me that it took you almost 20 years to call me a friend, Elliot?"

He shoots daggers at her with his eyes that cuts her right down the middle. Christ, she needs to sit down again.

"Don't do that. Don't play dumb, Olivia. You and I had a hell of a lot more between us than that and you know it."

"What does it even matter now? It's in the past. I've moved on and clearly, so have you," she croaks, her eyes flicking to his ring finger and back to his face.

"Look, Olivia, I know you. I know that Ed Tucker and Brian Cassidy can't make you happy. It doesn't fit, it doesn't work. Not in the way you want."

God, fuck him. She can't believe what she's hearing right now.

"They were both there for me when you weren't," she whispers brokenly

She'd missed him so much, never more so than when she thought she wouldn't make it through the hell Lewis put her through. But eventually, she stopped wishing he'd come.

If he didn't show up then, he'd never show up.

At least, that's what she told herself.

"And I will never forgive myself for that. I wanted to rip that bastard to pieces when I found out what he did to you," his voice breaks.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Elliot, I've been doing just fine without you so your conscience is clear," she says sarcastically.

"I know that, Liv. You've never needed me to come to the rescue," he says quietly, guilt flicking over his features.

 _I need to know you can do your job and not wait for me to come to your rescue._

Eleven years later and she still has nightmares about that case.

"What do you want from me, Elliot?" she asks. "My forgiveness? Fine. I forgive you."

She just wants him gone so she can keep living without him. Her heart still aches, oh how it does, but she's finally made peace with it. It doesn't keep her up at night and every day that she has her Noah, it loosens its fist around her heart.

He shakes his head. "That's not what I want."

She groans. "Then what is? You wanna be my _friend,_ Elliot?" she mocks him.

"Jesus Christ, no, I don't wanna be your friend, Olivia. After six years of trying to separate you from the job, I've finally figured it out."

She rolls her eyes. "Congratulations."

He narrows his eyes. "You don't get it, do you?"

She runs a hand through her hair. "I really don't, so why don't you enlighten me so can end this painful conversation."

"Five years ago, my marriage ended."

Fuck, five _years_?

Her mouth goes dry. It's been that long? "I'm sorry," she manages. "That must've been...hard for you."

But it seems in all their time apart, her ability to be sympathetic to him and his personal life has really taken a nosedive and her words don't sound hollow in her ears.

"See that's the thing," he starts, pushing off the railing to saunter toward her like the cocky son of a bitch he is.

Damn it if that doesn't still do it for her.

His palms come up to rest against the wall behind her, boxing her in with his arms. "I don't think you are, Liv."

Her eyes slam shut at the nickname that falls so easily off his lips, even now.

"Open your eyes, Olivia," he commands her. His breath is warm against her cheek, his scent prickling her senses as it all comes rushing back.

"I can't," she says weakly, her fingers scraping for purchase against the wall behind her.

One of his hands falls to her waist then, his hot palm startling her as his nose nudges her hair. _Ohhh_ , what is he doing?

God, she's missed him.

"I said, open your eyes, Liv," he says again, his voice dark and thick as it caresses the shell of her ear.

And then she gives in, whimpering as his mouth crashes onto hers, swallowing her low cry. Her hands take on a life of their own, one scraping through his hair as the other tightly clenches the edge of his jacket, anchoring herself to him.

His hand is softer now, the callouses smooth at her cheek before his unsteady palm falls to her neck, his thumb sweeping gently across her collarbone.

His mouth is everything — heat, fire and ice all at once. He's breathing life into her and she's too greedy to deny him this, to deny _them_ this.

She hears herself moan and it startles her, severing their connection.

"What are we doing?" she murmurs into his jaw. "Eighteen years."

His hand slides down her arm so he can slip his fingers between hers. "Olivia," he says softly.

"I have a son now," she says dumbly, lifting her head to peer into his eyes. "Did you know that?"

His answering smile is wide as the corner of his eyes crinkle with happiness, sending her heart into a stutter. "Yes, I did."

"What are we doing, Elliot?" she asks again.

He smudges his lips against her forehead. "We're just kissing," he hums. "Just kissing."

She nods. "And tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to stop loving you tomorrow, Liv."


End file.
